


Son of None

by TheLanternWretch



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, History, Murder, headcanons, predeath thresh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLanternWretch/pseuds/TheLanternWretch
Summary: Before he was a wraith, Thresh was a human just like anyone else. He had his own triumphs and falls, successes and failures, and even his own share of hard times. The hardest being his father walking out on him and his mother after abusing her for years. But what happens when the father comes back years later? Is he welcomed warmly back into his son's arms or does he have to pay the piper?





	Son of None

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off my headcanons for Thresh while he was still alive, working on his family's farm in the Blessed Isles. His father had left them when he was young and Thresh had only grown up gathering resentment for the man he once called father. An interesting write, requested by someone who wanted to know more about my personal interpretation of this character before his death and hardships he might have went through. Thresh was also a family last name - Arrin, the main character of the one shot below, is the character who become known as just Thresh and become one with the Shadow Isles later on down the road.

The evening had fallen. The young man threw the tools into the shed and straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow and looking at the last field he had painstakingly sowed. The horse still hitched to the plow nickered, tired, her daily limit of hard work reaching its peak and she whinnied softly for a handful of oats, maybe a carrot, and enough water to fill her belly. Arrin smiled at his dependable steed lovingly, admiring her fiery demands even when tired. “Yes, we’re done. You did well Nox, that’s a good girl…” He walked over and unhitched the plow, letting it drop to the ground. He’d put it away tomorrow morning - he was dead tired. 

Taking her by the reigns, he started leading her back to the stable until she had taken the lead, eagerly pulling him along as he hadn’t been moving fast enough for her liking. Still grinning, he jogged the best he could until she stomped her way through the threshold into her pen. Her black silky coat glistened in the twilight, the white blaze on her face catching the sun’s setting rays and setting her blond mane and tail ablaze with bursts of orange and yellow. After he made sure she had everything she needed for the night, he threw in a few extra bunches of fresh hay as a treat and locked the door shut behind him. 

Another’s day hard work was done. Arrin rested a foot on the roughly tied wooden fence he had finished repairing a few weeks ago, leaning on it and overlooking the fields he was in charge of. It was the end of spring and the wheat and barley he had just planted was in later than he had wanted it to be but that was the cost of running things by yourself. His mother was of no help in the fields and his father had left when his mother had found he was having an affair. His face fell as he thought about it; the man threw everything he had to the wayside to run off with some barmaid from a neighboring town, taking every bit of coin they had. Where they went, Arrin had no idea, but without him, they were in danger of losing their income and social status. 

Learning to take over everything was hard, especially for a young boy. _It’s been nearly ten years since he had left. A_ rrin looked down at the dirt and thought.  _Had it been ten? He was fourteen when his dad left. No, it had to be longer. Maybe twelve? Was it when he was fourteen? He was twenty-seven now…_  Time had ran together, the years of hard work lost. Running an entire farm wasn’t a small feat. He was thankful he had helped his dad for years before the situation had been thrust into his soft and uncalloused hands. Most of it, however, was learning as he went, along with input from his mother whenever she cared to help.

His mother hadn’t been the same since he left. She had grown cold, cruel. How many times had he came in from working all day to find her at the kitchen table, empty gin bottle in her hand, face down on the table? The amount of insults she threw at him? How many times she said he looked just like his good-for-nothing father? How he was just a reminder of all her mistakes and how she should have went off to the distant mainland instead of settling with a loser of a husband? He missed the woman she used to be, the loving mother who gave the clothes off her back to anyone who needed. Perhaps this was something that happened to women when they were wronged - they became heartless husks of what they were. The change, while a slap in his face, was almost fascinating. How quickly could one mutate over one broken heart.

A noise broke him out of his revere. He glanced down to see the cat that had taken residence up in the barn mewling around his ankles. “Tom!” He exclaimed, his foot dropping from the fence so he could crouch down. “There you are! Were you off fighting other big ol’ cats again? Did you win?” He rubbed the feline fondly under the chin as the cat purred, its torn ears flickering in happiness. “There’s been mice in the grain stores again. You might want to go get yourself some dinner.” He encouraged, patting the good boy on his rump. Tomcat, pleased with the affection given, yowled before slinking off to find something to eat. Arrin watched him disappear into the darkness, his orange fur flouncing into the shadows and he turned back to the fields and huffed. 

There was only one more patch to do. He had planned to plant some horseradish bushes in the corner of the field. It was less traveled than all the other places and the horseradish would surely flourish in the rockier patch of earth. With a groan, he bent down and picked up his heavy shovel to toss that in the nearby shed, ready to go for tomorrow when another noise caught his attention. He looked up, aware there were footsteps along the path through the grove of trees nearby. Drawing himself up to his full height, which was impressive in itself, the soft and sweet voice he had used for his animals disappeared. Instead, a rougher and more commanding voice echoed from his throat, “Who’s there?”

Instead of a verbal answer, a man came into view. Arrin nearly dropped his shovel.

“Arrin, is that you? Gods how you’ve grown!” His father exclaimed. He hadn’t aged too well. He walked with a limp, and his thick black hair was littered with silver. The dark skin was no longer healthy and taut but wrinkled and spotty. 

“…. Dad?” Arrin questioned, mouth hanging open. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah, son. It’s me. I came home.” The older man held his arms out for a hug, waiting for his son to embrace him like the prodigal son returning home to his father. Instead, Arrin didn’t move.

“Where have you been?” He demanded, still holding the shovel. “ **Where have you been all these years?”**  Anger was a surprise to him; all this time, he thought he’d be happy if his father came home… but no. The anger was instant, the questions were numerous. 

“Ah, well, I came to my senses. I realized what I had left, what I was chasing instead of being thankful for the life I had-”

“That was almost 20 years ago.” Arrin snapped. “You left your wife who gave you everything she had. You left  _your son_  without any explanation!” 

“I know what I did.” His father stated, trying to smile sympathetically. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, forgive me. I came home to make things right, to have things go back to how they were.” He suggested hopefully.

“How things were.” Arrin smiled sarcastically, throwing the shovel aside. “I’ll tell you how things were. They were  _hard._ You left us with no money. You took a fair share of food we had stocked for the colder months. You stole the horse you bought my mother as a wedding gift. You left us with nothing.” His father opened his mouth, but Arrin continued. “I kept this place running by myself. Mom is no help. You hurt her. She’s become nothing more than an alcoholic who beat her son when he couldn’t bring home enough money for her drink. I had to hear her cry for years about how she had failed you, failed me, told me how much of you she saw in me. She  _hated_  me for it; the same mother that spent evenings catching fireflies with me and saying how I was her pride and joy.” Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes as his anger only grew.

“I had to learn to run an entire farm by myself, how to negotiate at the market. This family is still going because  _I refused to give up and die. And **where were you this whole time?**_ Sleeping with more whores? How many bastard children do you have, father? Have you left them behind as well to come here? How many families have you destroyed?!” He took a step forward, and for the first time, he was able to see just how much he had grown compared to his father. He had him beaten in height, and by the looks of it, fitness. The last time he saw his father, he was sculpted, fit, able to throw bales of hay with one arm. Now, while his face was still handsome, he was flabby, weak, a shadow of what he once was.

“Arrin!” The man snapped, the vocal tone of a father very noticeable. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” He raised his finger at his son, snarling. “I came home to repair the damage I cause, and you’re just going to yell at me? I didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE LEFT, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH.” He roared. He stomped over to his hand and slapped the accusatory finger of his father away. “I SPENT YEARS DOING WHAT YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOING. THERE ISN’T ROOM FOR YOU HERE ANYMORE. I TURNED THIS FAMILY AROUND AND WE’RE DOING JUST FINE WITHOUT YOU. SO TURN AROUND AND GO BACK TO YOUR LITTLE SLUT. I’M SURE SHE IS JUST WAITING FOR YOU TO FILL HER WITH MORE SEED.” He seethed, nostrils flaring as he caught his breath, staring down at the man that had dared to return.

The other was silent, though a vein in his head was going off. “I can’t go back to her. She died.” He confessed. “That was a year ago-”

“Oh, oh, I see. We’re only good enough for you when the barmaid is dead.” Arrin clarified. “Sorry, did you want sympathy? I don’t have time for that.” He hissed, still bristling. 

“I see. Then, at least allow me to see my wife.” He asked, lowering his head. “If anyone deserves an apology, it’s her. Please Arrin, let me at least have that. Then I’ll leave.” Still huffing, he stood aside, kicking the shovel as the man walked by. “Thank you.” And, limping along, the man started toward the distant farmhouse. 

Arrin watched as his father determinedly walked forward. Still furious, he bent down to snatch up the shovel, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sturdy wooden handle. This man disappeared without a word for years, contributed nothing, left everything behind, left them without caring if they would survive… and now he just shows back up, expecting love and kindness. He only found a bitter son and a to-be train wreck of a wife, no doubt downing whatever alcohol he had scrounged up at the market that day. His fingers gripped the shovel more as hatred pumped through his veins. 

_He doesn’t deserve to be here. Not on the lands that I worked hard to keep alive. Not on the property that I defended from scavenging wolves and crows. He made his choice. He doesn’t get to make everything better with a dashing smile and a half-assed apology. **He doesn’t even deserve the clothes still on his back.**_

The distance between him and his father was only a few feet. Without a second thought, Arrin lunged, pulling back the shovel and silently swinging it. The metal hit the side of his father’s head with a metallic clang and a sudden moan. The older man crumpled to the ground, holding the bleeding gouge above his ears and cursing. 

“ARRIN. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” He yelled, looking at the blood on his hands and trying to focus on the son he had lovingly raised for years before he had slipped into the night. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Fixing a problem.” He slammed his boot down onto the other’s chest, the shovel raising as he focused the sharp metal point over the other’s head.

“I’M YOUR FATHER, DON’T YOU DARE-”

“You aren’t my father. He died the night he betrayed us.”

“I SAID I WAS SORRY-”

Arrin froze, the tool still poised. A smile split across his face, one of amusement and sarcastic happiness. “I guess that makes it all better then, doesn’t it?”

“PLEASE-!”

But the words fell on deaf ears as the makeshift weapon fell. The point buried itself into the man’s forehead. He screamed, writhing. The son only dropped his weight onto the handle, pushing it down further, watching it bury further into the skin. There was no doubt he had punctured the skull, and it was only a matter of time. The old man only struggled for a minute before falling limp, his life extinguishing with a final rattling breath. Just like that, it was over. 

Heavily breathing, still smiling, he looked at the mess below him. It was no different than slaughtering a pig, really. In fact, the pigs were slaughtered with more dignity and much more merciful. Once his rage began to subside, he started to realize what he did. Somewhere in his mind, panic set in. He had to hide the body and quick. If he wasn’t back in soon, his mother would no doubt come looking for him, squawking about lazily shirking off the last minute house chores before turning in for the night. He glanced around, eyes wide, until he saw the patch of earth. With a mighty pull and putting his boot on the remnants of his father’s face, he pulled the shovel free and tossed it toward the plot. 

Dragging the body was a bit awkward but he got it to the dirt. Furiously, he began digging, thanking the Gods that he had already tilled this corner, the loosened dirt easily moving for the first few inches. He kept going, even when his back protested and his shoulders and arms screamed for relief, digging a makeshift grave.  _Make it deeper, make it deeper…_  he kept thinking madly, tossing dirt to the side in a swift but rhythmic cadence. The darkness started to fall and the only way he could measure how deep it was after some time was by lowering himself into the pit. As soon as he dug low enough that the edges were above his head did he decide that was good enough. He hoisted himself out of the grave and unceremoniously dumped the corpse inside. He cared not for how the body landed. Some of the limbs stick up at weird angles; he fixed that by hitting them with the shovel until they cracked and flopped, broken and more compact. Then, as quick as he had dug it, he tossed the dirt back in until it looked nearly no more different than the planned plot from earlier that day. 

Once it was done, he put the shovel away after making sure the dirt that clung to it covered any blood left behind, but only after turning the earth where he had struck him down to hide even more of the crimson markings. As far as he was concerned, his father never came home and it was going to stay that way. To him, his dad was still out there, maybe living a good life with a new family. 

—-

He never had so many compliments on his crops come the fall. The most complimented one? The horseradish.


End file.
